


the calm before

by flowermasters



Series: lady kylo ren (and her general) [30]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 'babies and feelings' god that's on brand, (like legitimately at all), Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Babies, F/M, Feelings, Not Canon Compliant, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: Despite being old pros, Hux and Kylo are not handling new parenthood well.





	the calm before

**Author's Note:**

> ... I'm back?
> 
> ... sorry. I'm just having incredibly mixed emotions about TLJ, so what better way to handle it than playing around in a universe that is entirely based on noncompliance to canon.
> 
> Warnings for: Hux/Kylo, established 'verse, ~Force dreams~, almost no reference made to canon events

Organa arrives early, precisely as Hux had expected she would; the children have only just finished breakfast and been sent outside, with strict instructions to remain within eyeshot. It’s been a task, keeping them quiet long enough to dress and feed them. Hux hasn’t had much of a chance to do anything else; even feeding himself had become arduous, once the baby woke and required holding.

He watches for but a moment as Organa disembarks her ship—not the _Falcon_ , mercifully, but a small, unremarkable craft—and greets the children, who clutch at her greedily, their excited babbling inaudible but easy to imagine, nevertheless. Hux shakes himself out of it when Sabine snuffles against his chest, small limbs shifting within the tightly bound sling that supports her. She quiets when he shushes her, but it won’t hold for long. He’ll have to wake Kylo soon, if she doesn’t rouse on her own.

In the meantime, Hux quietly but hurriedly attempts to tidy the kitchen, which is in precisely the state of disarray one might expect given the circumstances. The children have abandoned clothes and toys randomly throughout the front room, despite Hux’s request that they tidy up. Millicent apparently took up residence on the kitchen table while Hux’s back was turned, and only budges when he threatens her with an empty skillet. The look of disdain she fixes him with before she hops down would ordinarily be enough to have him cursing at her, if he was at liberty to do so.

He’s running water over the dishes in the sink when Organa opens the door, and doesn’t pause or look up as she enters. “General.”

“Good morning,” Organa returns, in the distant tone she usually adopts when speaking to him. Hux can practically feel her watching him, although he supposes that’s better than having her inspect the house, or go looking for Kylo. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Hux says, watching as the sink fills. “She was born late in the afternoon yesterday. Not an eventful delivery.” A rather quick one, actually; the midwife had only been necessary for about an hour, although she had of course tried to linger. Hux is not entirely convinced he should have sent her away as quickly as he did. Counseling—of a sort—is rather in her job description, although all of this would have been entirely out of her field of expertise.

“Padmé told me you’ve decided to call her Sabine,” Organa says. “Beni picked that name?”

“No,” Hux says, glancing up with a frown at Organa’s interested tone. Her expression, as usual, is mostly impassive, aside from slightly raised eyebrows. “I did.” He quite likes it, as a matter of fact. It’s elegant.

“Ah,” Organa says. “She’s resting, I assume.”

“For now, yes.”

Organa’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a little pause before she speaks again. Hux knows what she’s going to ask, of course; there’s no sense prolonging it. “Well. May I? You seem to have your hands full.”     

That he does. Reflexively, he glances toward the window, but the children are playing by the shed, destroying the woodpile as per usual. Hux reaches for the tie at the crook of his neck with one hand, the other hand cradling Sabine to keep her stable. He can put off handing her over no longer. He tells himself it’s ridiculous, the little pulse of anxiety that runs through him when he maneuvers her small body free of the fabric. He’s far from a first-timer, and he’s entrusted his children to Organa several times before. He tells himself it’s because Sabine is the smallest, the last, but somehow even that explanation doesn’t sit right.

If Organa notices his hesitation, she gives no indication of it. She moves closer to accept Sabine, and does so with the sort of gentleness that makes Hux glance away, however briefly, while he hands over the baby. After all this time, it’s still strange to think of Organa as someone who is a parent, a wife, a sister. It’s one thing to know that she is Kylo’s mother, but it’s another thing to see her mothering.

He takes a step back and turns away, unwilling to crowd Organa, and busies himself with the dishes again. Organa is quiet for several minutes, and the house is silent except for the splashing of plates leaving water and the noises Sabine makes every so often, little whimpers as she adjusts to a new person’s hold. When Hux glances over once more, he finds Organa watching Sabine with an expression that can only be categorized as strange. Thoughtful, with an edge of—sadness, perhaps.

The silence is suddenly unbearable. “She’s like me,” Hux says bluntly. “I suppose it’s obvious.”

“Like you?” Organa says, still looking at Sabine. “I’m afraid I don’t see it. I was just thinking how very much like Beni she is.”

Hux considers that he has possibly misjudged Organa’s expression, but it’s too late to turn back now. “You know what I mean,” he snaps. “She doesn’t—have the Force, or whatever.”

“The Force is in all living things,” Organa corrects, with a quiet but impatient tone that doesn’t entirely suit her expression. She pauses, then adds, “Perhaps she won’t prove to be as sensitive to it as her siblings are. I wouldn’t claim to know.”

“But you can feel that, can’t you?” Hux says, letting the plate he’s holding drop back into the sudsy water and hit the bottom of the sink with a soft clatter. “I mean, surely you must’ve noticed, that she’s different from them.” Kylo must have known for weeks now, maybe longer, though she’d never said as much. It explains her quietness of late, the restlessness of her sleep. He’d written it off as a side-effect of her condition, though perhaps it was, in a way.

Now Organa does look up at him. Hux, avoiding the accusatory look in her eyes, glances down at Sabine, who seems to be dozing again. He can only pretend to be looking at her little pink face for so long; when he meets Organa’s gaze again, she seems to have controlled her expression, although when she speaks, her tone is stony. “I didn’t know that I was sensing the Force until I was already an adult,” she says. “And I had a child with a man who wasn’t sensitive to it at all. Do you really think that it makes any difference to me?”

 _It does to your daughter_ , Hux almost says, but he can’t, caught up in remembering Kylo’s distress the night before. She’d woken crying in the middle of the night, then turned silent and restless, and hadn’t been able to fall asleep again until just before dawn. Organa’s brow furrows, and Hux thinks she might’ve grasped something of that image, either from his mind or from the very atmosphere of the house, as Kylo sometimes seems able to do. She’s not a mind-reader in the way that Kylo is, but she’s not completely cut off, either. These things— _disturbances_ , Hux thinks wryly—have a tendency to linger.

“How is she?” Organa asks.

“Fine,” Hux says. “Physically.”

“I’ll speak with her, of course,” Organa says, looking down at Sabine again. “When she wakes.”

Hux nods, then dries a hand on a dishtowel before gesturing toward the kitchen table, where leftover porridge and fruit wait, along with a carafe of milk and a clean plate. He’d intended the plate for Kylo, but it’s impossible to know whether she’ll be willing to eat when she wakes. “Help yourself,” Hux says. He ignores Organa’s surprised blink.

She takes a seat at the table, but seems more interested in the baby than in the food. After a few moments, she seems to remember Hux’s presence. “I’m afraid I didn’t come with any news about your father,” she says absently. “He’s recovered from his injuries as best he can, at his age, but I don’t think he’ll ever be—quite right.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Hux says, in what he intends to be an impartial tone but what he’s almost positive is actually flat and hard, and certainly impolite. He doesn’t have the time, let alone the energy or the desire, to think of Brendol now, and pushes the idea of his broken father to one side as he scrubs the last plate. He has his children to worry about, at the moment, and Kylo. That’s more than enough.

If Organa takes offense at his tone, she doesn’t bother to argue. It really is safer if they talk about the children, for now. “She really does favor Beni,” Organa muses, while Hux puts the kettle on. “This is exactly what she looked like, as a baby.”

Hux purses his lips together to avoid a smile, although he has his back to Organa, anyway. “Padmé was quite disappointed. The first thing she asked when she saw the baby was ‘why isn’t her hair red?’”

Organa chuckles, something which Hux is certain she must have done in his presence before, but not because of anything he’s said. He elects to ignore it, offering, “My eyes, though. For now, at least.”

They could change, of course, as she grows, but it’s equally possible that they won’t. He can’t help but feel as though it’s marked her, somehow—not as different, of course, but rather as too similar, like him in the one way that makes him weaker than everyone else in the house. It’s a ridiculous notion, as there’s clearly no correlation, but Hux can’t shake the idea. He can’t shake the memory of how Kylo had stared at him after he woke her from her nightmare, like she didn’t even recognize him for a moment. Somehow the whole thing has balled up inside him and he can’t stop trying to unravel it, no matter how much he would like to.

Sabine’s soft whimpers turn into an anxious mewl, a sound which Hux almost mistakes for Millicent, at first, as she’s currently winding her way around his legs, trying to curry favor after the pan incident. Hux turns to face Organa just as Kylo stalks into the kitchen, dressed but clearly fresh from bed. The circles under her eyes are several shades darker than usual, and she hasn’t bothered to do anything to her wild hair. Changing out of bedclothes was likely her one concession to Organa’s presence.

“She’s hungry,” Kylo says, voice hoarse from sleep. Organa wisely says nothing, just allows Kylo to take the baby from her arms.

“There’s breakfast for you, if you’re inclined to eat,” Hux says. He knows how Kylo loathes it when he—direct quote—“hovers.” Still, he can’t resist a follow-up, at least in his mind: _I won’t leave it alone until you do._

“Relax,” Kylo says irritably, as she moves around the table to take a seat opposite Organa. “I’m hungry, too.”

Silence falls, but with Kylo in the room, Hux doesn’t attempt to speak to Organa, except to ask if she’d like a cup of tea (she would.) Organa remains seated at the table, having permitted Millicent into her lap, but Hux is feeling too restless to sit down, and returns to the sink to dry and put away the dishes. Kylo takes in the sight of Hux bustling about the kitchen with raised eyebrows, but doesn’t comment. She unbuttons her tunic and arranges her robe around Sabine, the practice so familiar now that it requires little direct attention.

“Mother,” Kylo says after a pause, apparently by way of a greeting, before a piece of fruit lifts itself from the bowl on the table and makes its way through the air, smooth as you please, to her free hand.

“There’s a plate right in front of you,” Hux says automatically, as Kylo pops the bit of melon into her mouth.

Kylo rolls her eyes, but at least has the decency to accept the glass that Hux puts on the table, rather than drinking directly from the milk bottle, something which Hux knows that someone—namely Organa— _must_ have taught her not to do at some point. “So,” Kylo says flatly, reaching for another piece of fruit. “Who’s going to start?”

“Start what?” Hux asks, as Organa says, “Beni, please.”

Kylo helps herself to some porridge as though neither of them had spoken, though her movement without the use of the Force is rather impeded. Without needing to be asked, Hux fetches the sugar jar and places it on the table. Kylo mutters a thanks before she continues. “You have a lecture in mind. Let’s get it over with.”

“I’m not here to lecture,” Organa says, folding her hands on the table. Millicent lets out an irritable meow, but Organa doesn’t continue to pet her. “I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Kylo says, through a mouthful.

“You’re not,” Hux says, which causes Kylo to look up at him rather as though he’s just pulled out a blaster and fired at her. It is, of course, not very like him to stand with Organa. It’s certainly not like him to actively push for a discussion of a feelings; in fact, almost every fiber of his being is urging him to make up some excuse to leave them to it. The only thing holding him here is the principle of the thing—leaving would be obvious cowardice—and the knowledge that Organa and Kylo are actually not very skilled at communicating, for all their attempts at it.

“There's been a lot going on, in case you’ve forgotten,” Kylo snaps at him. 

“Beni,” Organa begins. Her gaze rests steadily on her daughter’s face, although Kylo seems hell-bent on avoiding it. “Whatever you think you've sensed, whatever you may be feeling, it’s important to—”

“What have you been telling her?” Kylo asks, still looking at Hux. Her voice hasn’t risen above a low growl, but she must be more upset than she lets on, if she’s asking him that sort of thing aloud rather than plucking information from his mind.

“Nothing,” Hux says. It’s not technically a lie. He hasn’t said anything that counts as a betrayal of Kylo. If Organa has been able to intuit anything, that’s not his fault—at least not entirely. “It’s rather obvious.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“You’re upset,” Hux says. He can feel his cheeks heating, and feels very glad indeed that Organa is still looking only at Kylo, her expression serious but impassive. “Because of the baby. Because you think she’s—not Force-sensitive, or whatever it is.”

Kylo blinks first at him, then at Organa. “You think that I prefer the others.”

“Of course not,” Hux says, as Organa says, “Nobody thinks that.”

Hux grimaces. Perhaps two separate conversations would have been the better, albeit less efficient, choice.

“Then what?” Kylo says, loudly enough that Millicent jumps down from Organa’s lap and gives them all up as a bad job, quickly disappearing into the other room. Sabine, occupied and placid, remains quiet.

“I don’t have to tell you that your father wasn’t Force-sensitive,” Organa says. “Nor your grandmother, my biological mother.”

Kylo’s jaw clenches. “You think I blame Hux for something,” she says. Her gaze shifts to Hux again, and he’s shocked to see that her eyes are damp. 

“I—well, it is my fault, isn’t it?” Hux says. “Genetically speaking.” If the Force is even willing to abide by such things.

Organa says nothing, watching Kylo as though expecting her to answer this. Kylo swallows, then shakes her head slightly. “No,” she says. “I don’t think so. I would have, once.”

“But you know the dangers, now, of placing too much value in blood,” Organa says. The words have a weight to them that Hux can feel in the air, even without any extra senses; he thinks suddenly of a mask kept just out of sight, glimpsed years ago, before he banishes the thought on principle. Years ago, indeed.

He should feel better, now that he knows that Kylo hasn’t been so distraught, so distant, because she can’t stand to speak to him. Sabine snuffles, and Kylo looks down briefly, before glancing up at Hux. “Take her, will you?” she prompts, her voice low.

He does so without question, and holds Sabine to his chest as he backs away again, ostensibly to keep an eye on the kitchen window. Sabine tolerates the transition, unable to keep her eyes open now that she’s been fed. He should take her away from this discussion, put her in her bassinet, but he can’t quite manage it yet.

Kylo adjusts her tunic, then reaches for the food on the table with the air of someone who has abruptly lost their enthusiasm but not their need for food. “Would you like to know what I think?” Organa asks, reaching for her teacup.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway,” Kylo says, dumping a liberal helping of sugar onto her food.

“I think you’re afraid,” Organa says. Kylo doesn’t look up, but her jaw clenches again, tighter this time; Hux has a sudden urge to move toward her, put a hand on her shoulder in a show of solidarity, but hopefully she can sense his support, at least. “Of what you think this may mean.”

“You know as well as I that the Force can warn of what is to pass,” Kylo says. “Years—even centuries—in advance.”

“So what did you see?” Organa prompts. “What has made you this upset?”

There’s a long moment of quiet while Kylo stares down at her food, the resentment obvious in her tight posture. She must know that Organa won’t let this matter rest until it’s out in the open, like the drawing of poison from a wound; she must also know that Hux will always wonder, if she doesn’t just come out and say it.

“I dreamed that she hated you,” Kylo says flatly, looking at Hux with baleful, red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh,” Hux says. “Well.”

“Don’t you dare, Hux,” Kylo says, agitation turning her cheeks pink and her eyes wide. “Even you can’t write it off. You’ve seen my dreams come true.”

Her gaze flicks to her mother again, perhaps searching for someone more likely to believe, or at least to understand. “I saw myself,” she says. “As I was, before. As you all saw me. I heard Snoke telling me what I must do. How I would be tested, by my—by Han. And I saw her. She'll never be strong with the Force, but she's just like me, all the same.”

Organa says nothing, her lips slightly parted, brow furrowed as though thinking carefully. Hux, undeterred, speaks. “Well, that settles it, then. I’m quite safe. She’d never be of use to someone like Snoke.”

Kylo looks at him, frowning, as though taken aback by this. “Not the way I was, no. But _you_ were of use to Snoke. In your own way.”

She isn’t wrong, of course. His continued usefulness to Snoke had kept him alive and in a position of power, yes, but only until his own mortality caught him unawares. But Snoke was mortal, too. “Snoke is dead,” Hux reminds her. “Long dead.”

“It’s not about Snoke,” Kylo says. “Not necessarily. It doesn’t have to be literal. But it means something, all the same. I need time—time I don’t have—to meditate, to understand—”

“But understanding may never come,” Organa says. “It’s difficult—impossible—to separate what has happened from what will, or what might. I don’t mean to suggest that what you saw wasn’t significant, or that it was; only that you cannot allow it to hurt your children.”

“Never,” Kylo says immediately. “Nothing—”

Organa reaches for Kylo’s hand where it rests on the tabletop; the distance is too far for her to reach without leaning across the table, but the gesture is undeniable. “I don’t mean that something or someone will harm them,” she says. “Although that’s always true, in some way or another. I mean that you can’t guide their lives based on fear. I have some experience, in that regard.”

Another long moment passes; Hux, for once, has no idea how Kylo will respond to this. Her gaze has dropped to rest on her mother’s gently outstretched hand. She looks suddenly calmer, though not any less emotional, as though the simple retelling of the dream had been enough to lift some of the burden. “What do I do?” she asks finally.

At first, Hux thinks he must have heard her wrong; Kylo would rather do almost anything than ask her mother for help. But really, he thinks after a moment, there doesn’t seem to be anyone better to ask.

“There’s no simple answer,” Organa says. “But you have to talk to her, and to her brother and sister. Often. You can’t let secrets grow, no matter how hard it is to tell them the truth. That’s how it starts.”

She shifts, then, looking over at Hux with firm, appraising eyes. “That goes for both of you,” she says. “The Force is in all things, as I said.”

Hux feels, as he often does around Organa, rather like he’s being chastised, but there doesn’t seem to be any malice in it. There couldn’t be, not when her grandchildren are at the heart of the matter. Again acting on reflex, Hux glances outside, but the children have obeyed his instruction to stay where he can see them; they’re still by the woodpile—building a fort, by the looks of it—for now still unaware that anything has changed.

When Hux turns his attention back to the room, Organa has—perhaps tactfully—turned her gaze away, focused on spooning sugar into her tea, but Kylo is watching him. He feels her brush against his mind wordlessly, offering an apology, among other sentiments. It’s not necessary; he’s been every bit as upset as she has, every bit as worried about what this means, what it will bring for a child who will have to grow up without an awareness, a power, that to Kylo is as natural as breathing. Hux nods anyway, to show that he understands. Organa’s words might have steadied them, but this is something they will have to continue to address, perhaps for the rest of their lives.

Kylo doesn’t break the mental touch, even when he looks down at Sabine in his arms. For a moment, they watch her, together, but she sleeps on.


End file.
